


Cacophonic

by Snowy_Rain



Series: Big WIPs [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Dark Harry, Dead Dove: Eat If You Dare, Dubious Consent, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harry is not amused, Harry: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, Horcrux Shenanigans, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Coercion, Mental Link, Monstrous Voldemort, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Three Holy M's, Tom suffers and I actively endorse it, UNDERAGE UNDERAGE UNDERAGE, Voldemort: mate mate mate MATE, but is it cannibalism when you're a weird ass monster???, in which Voldemort fucks up and comes back as a creepy crawler, it's complicated - Freeform, lol, slave Tom, slow(?) burn(?), the Slow Decline of Sanity, yeah this is pretty fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/pseuds/Snowy_Rain
Summary: In which Voldemort comes back in 4th year, but comes backwrong.Harry must deal with the consequences of the ritual and the reformed Voldemort, who seems to be unusually tame and affectionate for a real-life horror movie monster.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Big WIPs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051319
Comments: 57
Kudos: 170





	Cacophonic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Primeval](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407763) by [Katsitting (Nekositting)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting). 



Voldemort didn’t let go.

The nightmare creature that had crawled from the cauldron -- lunged, crouched, and devoured Pettigrew’s bleeding body -- had instead crawled by Harry’s side. Having violated him as he wished, Voldemort had dozed off and started purring against his neck. Blood and bits of flesh slid wetly on his skin with every little move, making Harry’s stomach churn in revulsion.

_ I need to escape,  _ Harry thought, but knowing this objectively was different from  _ believing  _ in it. If he made just the slightest move, Voldemort would wake. He would see that Harry was trying to leave, and then he would clutch and never let go -- the fear  _ burnt  _ in his chest, and his heartbeat had elevated.

Voldemort made a guttural noise. Different than the purr, rougher and more stilted, like bone getting cracked by twisting it, letting the fractures run down its white surface. Harry’s blood froze in his veins.

The monster’s eyes opened.

Darker than the first time, but still terrifying. Harry’s arms shook as he tried to put a distance between them, litanies of  _ no no no  _ spilling forth from his lips. His nails scratched the monstrosity’s shoulders, his chest and upper arms, but Voldemort’s grip was true -- the slender arms pulled him back inside, closer than ever, enough to intimately smell the fragrance of cloying metal.

“Ha-r-r-rry,” Voldemort growled. Harry couldn’t see straight from the numb terror, desperately shoving against his rock-hard chest to no avail. The head approached to his, closer and closer and  _ closer,  _ close enough to  **_bite_ ** it in one go--

Yet Harry was still alive, despite the odds. Voldemort’s face nuzzled softly against his mussed nest of hair, dirty from blood, mud and the monster’s own saliva. Another deep growl suffused the silence, and Harry had the oddest feeling that Voldemort was pleased.

_ “Mine,”  _ Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue, the words coming easier in the tongue of serpents.  _ “My Harry.” _

_ “Volde--  _ Voldemort,” Harry stopped himself from saying it in Parseltongue, “I need to-- I need to pee.”

The humiliation of saying it to  _ Voldemort  _ of all people sizzled, but Harry buried it down and tried to  _ think. _

Voldemort groaned, almost turning into a whine.  _ “No. Stay” _

_ “Voldemort--” _

_ “Stay.” _

He hugged him tighter, caging Harry’s hips with his legs. Harry noticed with a startle that Voldemort’s…  _ thing  _ was touching his naked skin, which made him shudder in horror.

_ Let’s not provoke him,  _ the thought appeared suddenly, but he wholly agreed with his subconscious. 

So he forcibly relaxed against the monster’s torso, inching closer to that horrible scent of death and decay, and lay his cheek on the frozen skin. Voldemort made a higher pitched sound, one of exultant glee, and happily settled back into the embrace.

Minutes passed and Harry could distantly feel the very real sensation of a full bladder, threatening to burst and soil himself while cradled by this-- this creature. He squirmed again, letting out a sigh of despair when Voldemort clung harder, obsessively rubbing his deformed face into the top of Harry’s head.

“Please, I need to-- need to go,” Harry pleaded, now urgently. “You can come with. Voldemort, listen to me!”

Growl.

Jarring, rumbling -- Voldemort rolled his hips against his leg, and Harry sucked in a breath of fear. Against his hopes, Voldemort left his hair alone and faced him from above, red eyes glittering in the dark.

_ Well, fuck. _

With desperate determination, Harry smiled shakily and spoke, “Voldemort? Can you… hear me? Please?”

The monster seemed frozen for a mere moment, but then he relaxed and  _ melted  _ against Harry, returning to purring and softly--

That was his  _ tongue.  _ That strange, elongated and  _ muscled  _ tongue which was licking his cheeks free of blood, grooming the tresses of his sweaty fringe, which had stuck to his forehead. Gross,  _ gross.  _ This was really gross, but Voldemort was calmer now and Harry almost felt like a cat owner. The owner of a very big, very affectionate, very fucked up cat.

“I’m here,” Harry said, gently as he could. There was the threat of his near-bursting bladder, but he could pace it. “Voldemort, could you-- could you carry me?”

Voldemort’s eyes snapped open and  _ lit up,  _ and with a hiss of  _ ‘carry’  _ Harry was bundled up and lifted. He yelped in response at the speedy motion.

And -- something he hadn’t thought about -- Voldemort was off, swift as a Snidget, spiriting Harry away into the night toward who knew where. Swaddled in his torn robes and clothes, Harry could see the graveyard getting smaller and smaller, like a nightmare escaping his consciousness upon waking.

“No, no!” Harry tried to tell him, “Voldemort, we can’t leave there!”

As with all his requests dealing with the external world, the monster tuned it out and did as he wished. Mainly, kidnapping Harry a second time that night.

***

They ended up in a forest, with dense bushes and tall trees that sprouted from every inch. Harry waited impatiently for Voldemort to scrutinize their surroundings, finding it a very odd sight when he sniffed the air with his torn nose slits; eventually, however, Voldemort seemed content with his choice and gently put Harry onto the warm earth, right beneath the sprawling leaves of a fern.

“Oh,” he intoned, blinking up at the horrifying sight of the Dark Lord waiting like a hopeful puppy. Bloodied and resembling a creepy crawler from horror movies, the images didn’t mesh well. “Thank you, um--”

In the blink of an eye, Voldemort was gone from his view. Harry looked around befuddled and came to the conclusion that the monster -- man? -- had left him in a  _ hidden alcove,  _ like a winter time food supply or a shiny treasure. He would rather it be the latter than the earlier though… 

“What the fuck is he doing now?” he asked himself, because even if he could ask Voldemort, the  _ former  _ man wouldn’t understand anymore. His speech was beyond that of the most basic vocabulary. He rose from his cushioned spot and examined the environment, scanning for any pale nightmarish monsters.

While Voldemort was gone, Harry decided to take the opportunity and take a piss. Nearby was a suitable tree surrounded by thick bushes, so he headed there and crouched, letting nature run its course. He sighed at the easing tension in his abdomen—and then he was finished, tearing a bit of the hem of his clothes and wiping with that.

A deep growl rumbled from behind the trees, and Harry swiveled around to see Voldemort with a handful of -- of  _ mulberries.  _ Those were mulberries, right?

The monster approached and herded him back into the fern-covered ground, delivering the fruits to him with a blank expression -- not that he could emote well with that face.

“Thank you?” Harry said, accepting the offering confusedly. Didn’t mulberries give fruit in autumn? It was  _ May.  _ But it wouldn’t do to be a gift horse in the mouth. “They look tasty.”

Voldemort crouched, and Harry couldn’t help but stare at his kneecaps as they rippled with the motion, the joints taking weird shapes that made this situation even weirder. The other was watching him intently, without even the slightest sign of movement.

_ Do I eat these?  _ Harry wondered, and plucked a mulberry from the pile in his palm. Biting into one, he averted his eyes from Voldemort’s stare, which was on him even as he chewed. With one swallow, the berry was gone.

For a long while neither of them made any noise. It was the most awkward Harry had ever felt, ignoring the uneasiness that Voldemort’s appearance caused. Seeing as Voldemort was little more than an animal now -- apparently -- Harry started to eat the rest of the mulberries, feeling rather hungry after the ordeals he endured.

The berries were tart on his tongue. The sour and sweet taste popped in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but appreciate that Voldemort had gathered these just for him. Now, the only thing left to do was wait and try to convince him to…

Once he was done eating, Voldemort got on all fours and crawled over to him. Harry’s heart sped up in fear at what he might do so he scrambled away, only to hit thorns and hiss in pain. He was stuck between the brambles of a bush and the monster’s predatory gaze, and he couldn’t help but shiver.

_ “Harr-r-r-y,”  _ Voldemort spoke again, with that euphoric undertone in his voice. He sidled up to Harry’s side and promptly snuggled into his embrace. It was like trying to fend off a determined cat -- it would climb up your lap with its claws, and not even standing would make it fall down. Voldemort didn’t mind Harry’s attempts at unfriendliness either; instead, he sat on his thigh as if he didn’t weigh an adult man -- surprise, he did -- and leaned into his torso, pushing his head beneath Harry’s chin and against his neck. It was uncomfortable, but Voldemort shifted to allow his leg to spread out, which mitigated some of the burden on it.

It wasn’t as bad as --  _ that thing  _ from last time. Harry was still wrapped in his bloody, tattered clothes and Voldemort was still naked as a wild animal -- but it was tolerable.

***

When he opened his eyes, Harry was met with bright sunshine, streaming through the lazy sways of the oak trees’ leaves. He was lying on the warm ground, dirty cotton spread over his form.

There was no Voldemort with him.

He shot up in alarm, remembering everything that had happened: Cedric had died, Voldemort had come back, and most of all -- Voldemort had come back  _ wrong. _

What was going to happen now? Were the people at Hogwarts looking for him --  _ them?  _ They didn’t know that Cedric was dead, that he died because the Dark Lord had a mad plan to resurrect himself. Could they follow a Portkey without  _ having  _ the Portkey at hand?

If so, they should have found him by now, shouldn’t they? Surely they didn’t wait an entire night for two Triwizard champions who had vanished without a trace?

He scrambled up, wincing at the wobbliness of his legs and the dirt that covered his whole body in a layer. He didn’t know where his wand was -- he didn’t know  _ where  _ the graveyard was. He couldn’t go back; worse, he probably couldn’t escape Voldemort either.

Looking around, however, he didn’t see any sign of the monster. Harry heaved a tremulous sigh and resolved to try to run, unknowing whether it would work or not.

So he walked toward the sunny clearing ahead, grimacing at the blurry shapes and brightness. He had lost his glasses in the graveyard too -- he was blind as a bat right now, only able to see two feet ahead of him. Anything further and he was useless. He probably wouldn’t notice Voldemort sneaking up on him,  _ when  _ he decided to visit Harry again.

_ Is he gathering fruit again?  _ Harry wondered, the thought striking him with a strange feeling. It felt like being kidnapped by a big, scary feline, one which was extremely territorial and aggressive. Like a shiny bauble, Harry was coveted and hidden away from prying eyes and grabby hands -- Voldemort’s own grabby hands excluded, which he had shown last night in great detail.

He was almost at the last row of bushes when he heard a bone-chilling growl and smelled the vague scent of sweetness and dark metal, freezing in his spot. Turning around, Harry saw Voldemort’s pale and flowing form, heading toward him with hands and feet on the ground.

_ Daylight didn’t change anything,  _ he thought to himself as he was accosted by the other, made to walk right back to the fern bush and sit still.  _ He still looks like a creepy crawler. Like a centipede without  _ looking  _ like a centipede. _

Harry had seen plenty of those in the garden back at the Dursleys, burrowing through the soil and eating the leaves of roses and gardenias. He didn’t mind many insects, but those with undulating bodies and ever-twitching appendages made him shudder. As a result he had done his best to keep those away from the garden, sometimes even throwing the big ones toward the road in the hopes that they got crushed before they could spread their babies around.

Voldemort was one such creepy crawler -- had Harry seen him and been able to do something, he would have also thrown him into the road to get smashed by a truck’s heavy tires. But as he was quite helpless right now, all he could do was sit and allow him to feed him to his heart’s content.

“Thank you,” Harry said politely as Voldemort put a persimmon on his lap, the fruit dipping the fabric spread over his thighs. “It looks good.”

Voldemort started purring as he was wont to do; he bent forward and curled around his knees, lying down in front of him, casually blocking the way to the clearing. Harry sighed and bit into the persimmon, enjoying the excessive sweetness of it.

He needed a plan, he decided. Because if he wanted to go back to Hogwarts, he had to dodge Voldemort’s scrutiny. If he fell asleep… But no, Voldemort didn’t sleep without hugging Harry with all his might -- if Harry tried to coax him to slumber, he might actually prevent his own escape.

What to do? Harry needed to go back to the graveyard. He didn’t know whether he could use the Portkey again, but he had to try at least.

Absentmindedly, he stared at the half-eaten persimmon in his hands, surface greenish and its insides striped in brown and black. He hadn’t seen Voldemort eat anything he brought back, but perhaps he didn’t  _ need  _ to eat?

_ Why would he not eat?  _ Harry thought, perplexed. He felt as though he was on the verge of  _ something,  _ but he couldn’t grasp it.  _ He is still human -- or is he? He acts like something else now, but everything needs to eat. Even thousand year old basilisks eat something. Hell,  _ dementors  _ eat souls! And they are as far away from humans as you can get. _

So what was it? Voldemort had to eat  _ something,  _ but Harry hadn’t seen him eat anything--

Except he  _ had,  _ he realized with a sudden spark.

Voldemort had eaten  _ Wormtail. _

Harry stared at the persimmon in his hands, and was very glad that it wasn’t mulberries this time. The red, stain-prone juice would have made him blanch from the flashbacks to last night.  _ Focus, Harry. _

So Voldemort had to eat, but he had to eat meat instead. A carnivore -- was it solely humans? Or did animal meat count? Harry didn’t want to ponder on that long, because he was in peril of losing all in his stomach. Considering that he had just eaten, and that this meager ration was all he had, he better keep the food in his body.

_ I could bait Voldemort to the graveyard,  _ he thought, entertaining the idea.  _ Maybe I should get him hungry first, and  _ then  _ suggest that the graveyard has Wormtail’s remains. _

The thought of Voldemort devouring humans revolted him, but strangely the thought of him doing it to  _ Wormtail  _ didn’t. That traitor had deserved it for his actions: Killing twelve Muggles and framing Sirius had been punished by being eaten alive by the Dark Lord’s monstrous version. It was poetically ironic and now that he realized that this was well-deserved, Harry didn’t feel as conflicted about it.

With bated breath, he dragged himself over to where Voldemort lay, gathering all his courage to wake him from his sun-induced nap.

One eye opened, settling ominously on Harry.

“Hey,” he spoke, feeling nervous. Why? Voldemort didn’t have malicious intentions toward him. Harry shouldn’t be nervous. “Um, are you hungry?”

Voldemort’s eyes were darker than last night, where they were glowing softly. He let out a rumbling sound, a cross between a purr and a growl, and Harry flushed to the roots of his hair. It sounded…  _ sultry. _

“There is -- the graveyard has meat,” he continued, stammering a bit. Voldemort’s gaze followed his twitches, his nervous shifting; Harry felt like a prey animal. “Where we came from -- you can eat there. Are you hungry?”

Voldemort didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, his attention was on Harry’s movements, his red eyes locked on him as if charmed by a spell -- or was it just  _ charmed?  _ Could Voldemort feel such things, especially like this?

With an abrupt move, Harry was pinned to the ground, Voldemort on his hands and knees above him, drool leaking from his gaping maw. 

“No,” Harry gasped, breathless, “no, no! Voldemort, stop--”

It had backfired  _ spectacularly.  _ Voldemort purred darkly and leaned over Harry’s chest, ripping the already torn fabric apart to reach his skin. Harry cried a strangled whimper as Voldemort’s tongue started laving at his chest, leaving behind wet traces of saliva.

“No!” Harry said again, trying to get through to him. His lower half was reacting to the stimulation and the memory of what had happened last night, but he was lucid enough to know that he  _ didn’t  _ feel attracted to this creature or what he was doing.

He reached out to grab Voldemort by his bald head, trying to keep it from moving down toward his pelvis, but the monster was too strong. Even years of Quidditch practice couldn’t compare -- then how could he stop him?

_ That’s the thing,  _ Harry realized belatedly, a stone sinking in his stomach.  _ I can’t. _

He could only let Voldemort have his way or talk him out of it -- but Voldemort only listened when he was  _ satisfied,  _ didn’t he? He hadn’t listened when Harry did his best -- he had only listened when it suited him, and when he didn’t have anything to lose.

And in this case, Voldemort would lose…  _ intimate stuff.  _ Stuff he wanted to do because who the fuck knew. The Dark Lord’s monstrous self had imprinted on Harry like a duckling on its mother, and he could do nothing but witness as Voldemort took out Harry’s prick, letting it stand in the morning air engorged and reddened.

Voldemort growled with urgency, and put it in his mouth without fanfare. Harry sucked in a breath at the sudden sensation of  _ wet-slick-soft-warm-curling,  _ and shuddered as the tongue wrapped around his length, milking it for his come.

“Oh,  _ oh, oh--” _

Harry couldn’t talk coherently anymore, so all he did was moan and gasp as his cock was sucked down and polished, teeth at ready to bite down _ any moment-- _

With a violent thrust of his hips, Harry came into Voldemort’s mouth, twitching every few seconds as waves of pleasure washed over him. The monster hummed pleasantly as he gulped down the fluid, making obscene swallowing sounds as he sucked him dry.

_ I’m not attracted to it,  _ Harry denied as he lay bonelessly after, Voldemort settling to his side like a sated cat.  _ It’s just the thrill. I don’t like sharp teeth. _

It felt like he was kind of lying to himself, but he would take every second of denial as he could. He wasn’t ready to deal with everything that had happened yet.

***

In the lazy afternoon sun, beneath the trees’ lush leaves and the dappled shade, Harry groaned at the feeling of waking up from yet another monster-induced nap. Voldemort was right beside him, purring from his chest with a gravelly noise and emanating heat like a woolen blanket. Harry tried to push back and sit up, but the monster’s arms caged him in—times like this, he  _ really  _ despised being the weakest guy on the Quidditch team, ‘perfect-for-Seeker-position’ or not.

“Voldemort,” he huffed, a vein his temple pounding. “Let me up.”

The Dark Lord growled and hugged tighter as if Harry leaving his embrace was the end of the world. The boy rolled his eyes and lay back down, scheming ways to escape his hold.

_ I could play cute I guess,  _ he thought, only to discard the idea immediately.  _ How about no. _

Voldemort nuzzled the top of his head, where the whorl of his hair was.

_...On second thought, maybe it’s worth a shot. _

“Voldemort,” Harry began again, this time softer. He tilted his head back to see his face—to his surprise, Voldemort’s eyes were open, watching him as intently as ever. Seeing the opportunity, Harry went for the killing blow, “I’m  _ so  _ thirsty. I need water. Can you get me water?  _ Please, Voldemort?” _

He felt a bit ridiculous talking like this— like a spoiled little Draco Malfoy— but as soon as he uttered  _ ‘please’,  _ Voldemort was on his four limbs and scrambling away out of the fern alcove.

Harry sat up on his elbows and stared after him in shock, gawking.  _ It worked???? _

**Author's Note:**

> hi yes thank you for reading, this is one of my favorite fanfics. it's been prompted SO MUCH in the server that I couldn't just let it lie.


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